The Last Chapter
by TheWayTheFeatherFalls
Summary: What happened to George after he shot Lennie on that fateful night? The last and untold chapter of Of Mice and Men. Read my interpretation of it here. Originally an English assessment. NOTE: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO HAVE READ OF MICE AND MEN TO UNDERSTAND THIS. THERE ARE PARTS YOU MAY NOT GET BUT IT IS MAINLY DEPRESSING ANGST-Y THOUGHTS AND THE LIKE. Reviews make me a very happy person!


A/N: Hi peeps, TheWayTheFeatherFalls here! This is a WHOLE lot different to what I usually write, for starters it's not even Harry Potter! I mean seriously, WTF? I always thought HP was the only FanFiction I would ever write but oh well.

Anyway, this is actually my English assessment ("WTF you do English assessments?!" "Yes I do now shut up") and I realised that I could actually post this. Crazy, huh? I was only meant to write the first two paragraphs and plan the rest, but my teacher loves me (I got subject champion and have a nice shiny badge! You jealous?) so it should all be good goolies.

Right. Umm. I'll shut up now shall I?

DISCLAIMER: Oooh, it feels weird not talking about J.K Rowling! Ha LOL no back to business. I OWN NONE OF THE CHARACTERS MENTIONED IN THIS STORY, I ONLY OWN THE PLOT. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO JOHN STEINBECK. Got that?

_**THE LAST CHAPTER**_

The sun set on the horizon, casting a pinky red haze over the scarce trees and bushes. Dusty mist enveloped the bleak landscape, settling on each and every Californian Pine and walnut. A lone bird screeched sorrowfully overhead, lost from his own flock and looking for home. A mule deer wandered slowly into the clearing, head bowed and ears hanging mournfully by its chin. A predatory hawk cawed menacingly at the deer, swooping in tight circles over and over again. The deer backed up in terror, and, after giving a frightened snort, galloped off, the hawk following at a rapid pace. A young brush mouse scurried out from the bleached undergrowth. Pointed nose twitching and elegant tail whipping, the mouse set off to cross to the safety of the next bush. It paused. The brush fell quickly silent. Scampering quickly, the mouse pattered over crisp, dry leaves, the sound of crushed twigs underfoot echoing ominously around the silent clearing. From behind a tall bush a scorpion crept, its tail following behind it. The scorpion scuttled noiselessly behind the mouse, stopping only when the mouse paused to look around. Hiding in a brush, the scorpion waited until the mouse turned back to the dusty path, before continuing to trail the oblivious mouse. For a moment then, the mouse stood triumphant by the edge of the bush, jubilant for a fraction of a second, before plummeting to the dusty ground at the mercy of the scorpion.

The door banged open and a shadow loomed out of the house. Animals of all sorts skittered away into their homes, haunted by what the man could do to them. A slight man strode out of the building and slumped down into the wicker chair on the veranda. Kicking off his shoes, the man hunched over his half-filled glass, staring moodily at the bottom of the cup. He swirled the amber liquid round the tumbler and took a large gulp, relishing in the burning sensation it gave him. Huddled over, the man nursed his glass of whiskey in his right hand, whilst reaching under the chair for the bottle. Downing the rest of the drink, the man wasted no time in uncapping the new bottle and re-filling the glass. He slugged back half the glass in one shot, and cherished the feeling of completely letting go. His mind felt blissfully unaware of his surroundings, and he felt as though he was floating.

"See this is wha' we wanted this place for," The man thought despondently, taking yet another swig of his drink. "No-one woul' give a hoot if we wanta' get smashed. No-one woul' give a hoot." Another mouthful of whiskey disappeared down the throat of the man and he leaned back in the chair, deep in thought. The glass tipped at a precarious angle, but the man's foggy mind registered just in time for him to jump up and steady the glass. Under the roof of his broken down shack-of-a-home, the man leant on the banister and stared into the wilderness that he had adopted as his home. Chin in his palm, the man glowered into the darkness. The sun had set since he had opened the door and he was left with an almost pitch black expanse of land, stretching on endlessly to the back of beyond.

Sorrowfully, the man walked to the front of the shack and sat on the dusty plains. Without Lennie, he was without part of his soul. Without Lennie, he had no reason to live.

"Goddamnit, Lennie. Why dija do it?" The man breathed, his heart breaking for the umpteenth time. "Goddamnit, Lennie! Why?!" The man stood up heatedly, as the wind picked up its pace. The wind swirled around him, throwing dust into his eyes and whipping his hair around his face. The man swiped an arm across his face, but to no avail. The storm continued to wreak havoc across the desert, the sound howling through the man's ears like a wounded dog. The door from the 'house' sailed past the man's ear, looking surprisingly graceful in the turmoil of the brushlands. The storm brought the man to his knees and forced his head down, his hair rough in his eyes and sand bitter in his mouth. His murky mind was suddenly clear, and he remembered, for the first time since that fateful afternoon by the green pool, why he had done it. He hadn't done it for Curley, certainly not, and he hadn't done to protect what might have happened in the future. He hadn't even done it for Lennie. He had done it so that he, George Milton, would know that his loneliness was justified. That he, George Milton, could do nothing to bring back Lennie. It was selfish really, he thought, still kneeling in the dust. It sickened him to realise that his suffering of the past year had all been by his own hand.

Then, as soon as the storm had started, it stopped.

Sluggishly, George got to his feet and gaped at his surroundings. The once serene and peaceful landscape had been completely transformed in the space of five minutes. The trees that had previously been swaying in the calm breeze were now uprooted and scattered over the dry dust. The shack had already been in a state of disrepair, but now it looked as if it would never be fit for use again. The wooden door had been blown off and several windows were smashed in by the force of the tornado. As George turned to face it, part of the roof fell in with a deafening smash. George leaped back at the sound of the breakage, twisting his ankle in the process. Shakily, George turned out to the wide expanse of desert, the trees wavering in the heat of the dark land.

"Lennie woul'a loved it ou' here" George murmured, gazing down at his feet. Something caught his eye a few yards away. Snapping out of his reverie, George lunged towards the offending objects. Sitting in the dust was a soft cotton cap. George knew that cap. The cap belonged to Lennie. Nested in the folds of the cap was a dead mouse. A white mouse, like the ones Lennie had had all those years ago. And George knew he had been forgiven.

Then George Milton dropped to his knees and did something he had never done before.

He cried.

A/N: Hi, hope that was okay. It was very angst-y at the beginning and got gradually sadder and more depressing. Sorry for that.

Also, if you haven't read Of Mice and Men then you really should. It's sad at the end but really good book. English teachers would have loads more to say about it than that but I'm not an English teacher so DEAL WITH IT!

Sorry, I am VERY stressed at the moment.

Anyway, it's my first non-HP fanfic so please be nice but I do accept constructive criticism. But no unnecessary flames. Reviews will make me REALLY happy and make me feel better about handing it in. So please. I'll love you forever xx


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